


Let's Sink Together, Baby

by crow_feathers



Series: Through Everything [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Angst, Don’t copy to another site, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of angst ahead, Named Reader, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Reader-Insert, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Undertale Skeletons in Heat, gender neutral reader, gratuitous POV changes, this is mostly an excuse to write angst lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-04-11 14:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19111756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crow_feathers/pseuds/crow_feathers
Summary: Your life kind of sucked -- at least, that's what you thought. After finding a bitty abandoned in the garbage one day, you realized it could be a lot worse.(Prequel to Don't Go Down Without Me.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I don't have enough WIPs!
> 
> I have no idea if there'll be smut in this. Not all of the tags/warnings apply yet.

You wanted to scream. You’d had a terrible, awful, no good day at work, but thankfully the eight hours had  _ somehow _ passed, and you’d swiped your badge and punched the clock out option, ready to get out of the hell building and walk to your shitty ass bus stop.

You hated your job so fucking much. You’d been in pain (emotional, physical, existential) at work all damn day, and you were excited to get on your bus and go home and be done with it all. You’d pour a drink, chat with your online friends (your only friends) and play stupid, meaningless video games until you nearly passed out at your computer. Then, you’d throw yourself into bed and do it all over again. Rinse and repeat.

You fucking hated it.

But as you waited for the bus, you heard something. It sounded like... a whimper? It seemed like it was coming from the nearby garbage can. And because you just couldn't mind your own business, you had to go and look.

You gasped when you lifted the lid.

Inside the trash can, there was a tiny (fragile, sad, easily broken) skeleton monster inside. It - he you realized - was curled in on himself, as if trying to become invisible. You couldn’t just leave him there. You reached a hand in, despite your own self preservation instincts. The garbage stank and you regretted it right away, but you couldn’t just leave something (someone) in there if it was alive.

The skeleton was warm to the touch and he let out a harsher breath as you curled your hand around him and brought him up to face level for inspection.

He appeared to be about five inches tall, with a mostly thin and angular look. He moaned, and you realized two things at once: one, he was a bitty. Two, he appeared to be in heat.

Well, shit. The heat of your hand seemed to stimulate him, making you blush and him make a pitiful attempt to hump your palm. “Hello?” You asked. He didn’t respond, save for a sad little groan. Well, shit. It didn’t seem like he had presence of mind to make conversation. You didn’t have practice with bitties, let alone ones in heat. 

Before you could decide what to do, your bus rolled up. You cursed and gently curled your hand around him before placing him in the front pocket of your hoodie. You couldn’t just leave him in the trash. From what you’d heard from you coworkers and read online, bitties really weren’t pets; they were people, if tiny ones at that, and just as complicated.

Even if it had been a gerbil in there, you wouldn’t have been able to bring yourself to just leave it. You were the kind of person who’d feel guilty for washing a spider down the drain.

You paid your fare and boarded the bus, taking special care to keep your hand in your pocket. You were terrified of squishing him, but you’d been taking this bus for nearly three years now, so even if you got stared at, at least no one would really be suspicious of you. You smiled at the middle-aged man who you usually shared a seat with. He smiled back, looking as tired as you felt.

The two of you never spoke to each other over the years, but you still considered him a sort of friend, secretly hoping he felt the same about you.

As you settled into your usual seat, you felt your hand get sticky. Did it come on you? Oh, fucking gross. Oh well. If his heat was the same or similar to any animal’s, it was out of his control. Sticky hands and the implications thereof were unpleasant, but you’d survive. You were glad humans never experienced heats. That would be embarrassing.

A couple times you had to fake cough to cover up a moan or otherwise unsettling sound from your jacket, but you didn’t mind too much. Who cared if the people on the bus thought you were weird?

After getting off at your stop, you had about a twenty minute walk to your house. After the bus rolled away, you withdrew the small creature from your pocket to get a better look at him.

Your impression didn’t change much. He was still small, still angular, and still in heat. He seemed to have no idea where he even was. Though now your hand had what looked like cloudy snot on it. Eww. You’d have to wash this hoodie. 

Putting him back in your pocket, you decided to think about all this later. You were still so fucking tired from your shitty day at work; too tired to think about what you were actually doing, fishing a tiny person out of the trash and bringing him home with you.

When you finally reached your house (small, ugly, rundown) you realized just how hard it was to unlock a door with your non-dominant hand. It was a pain in the ass, but you got it done.

A painful realization hit you: you’d have to take care of the bitty before you could chill out and turn off your brain for the day. You were in the process of racking your brain trying to think of a place to put him when you noticed the empty cardboard box on the table. Right; the new gaming headset you splurged on and ordered online had arrived yesterday, and you hadn’t thrown out the empty box yet. It was still sitting on the dining table.

That would make a good place for the little guy, at least for tonight. After double checking that it was indeed empty, you gently set the skeleton monster in there. Again, he didn’t seem to notice you were there, still curled in on himself and- ew.

The next order of business was to throw the hoodie onto the floor and wash your hands. So gross. You’d put the hoodie in the wash in the morning, you told yourself. Disgusting and lazy? Yes. Were you going to do it anyway? Also yes.

With that resolved for the time being, you grabbed two of the rattier dish towels from the kitchen and brought them to the little skeleton’s makeshift shelter for the night. He was still writhing in well, heat, so you decided to set them in the opposite corner of him so as to not get your hands dirty again. Was that selfish of you, not wanting to touch him after washing your hands? Probably. Oh well.

Bringing the box to your room and setting it on the dresser, you resigned yourself to a night of researching bitties instead of playing video games. You doubled back to the kitchen and poured yourself a shot of cheap whiskey first, though. The back of your mind had been itching for a shot  _ hours  _ ago.

You spent the next three hours watching videos and reading wikis and forums. Feeling your eyelids grow heavy, you decided it about time to start heading off to bed. But before that, you’d leave a few more things in the box, in case your tiny house guest woke in the middle of the night and got confused or scared.

You didn’t know if you planned on keeping him or not. If he was in the trash (a surge of anger bubbled in your chest at the thought) he probably wasn’t wanted. That didn’t mean you could keep or afford a bitty, or that he’d even want to stay, though.

You’d have to play it by ear.

* * *

 

When Chaz finally came out of the daze of his heat, all the things he had been unable to process in the haze of  _ want  _ and  _ need _ came crashing over him like a tidal wave. He propped himself up, confused at his surroundings. He racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened.

He’d gone into heat and been unable to hide this time. Then his “condition” had been noticed by his owner’s children.

And then she threw him away. Literally. Slam dunked him straight into the garbage can. Apparently, even though it was completely out of his control, his heat was disgusting, sick, and a perversion of nature. The words echoed in his skull even now.

After that, a different human had apparently seen or heard him, decided to fish him out of the trash, (god, why?) and now he was in their house. In a cardboard box. Still wearing clothes drenched in his own magical fluids.

It was now sometime later and they’d left him alone with nothing but a paper napkin, some dish towels, food and water, and a note he had already decided he wasn’t going to read.

This was all too much. The bitty wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He settled for screaming. It came out as a choked, half wail, half howl instead. He didn’t know how long he laid there making noise, or if anyone would hear him, and he found that didn’t care. Eventually, he felt slightly better, at least he thought so. He was ready to start improving his physical state, at the very least.

Chaz really wanted to use his magic and shred that stupid fucking note, but it would be a stupid waste of energy. He ate two of the crackers that had been placed in the box instead. They were a little stale, but compared to the dry dog food he’d been used to, they tasted like heaven.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ate “people food.”

After feeding himself, he drank some of the water the human had left for him, cupping it in his probably dirty hands and bringing it to his face. It was in a plastic shot glass. Interesting. Then again, the bleeding heart that brought him home probably didn’t have anything smaller.

There was still copious amounts of water left after he’d drank his fill, so he stripped out of his foul smelling clothes and, after tearing off a suitable piece of the napkin, gave himself the closest thing he could to a bath.

Without soap he still smelled bad, but at least he wasn’t sticky any more. He wanted to dunk his clothes in the water and rinse them out, but he had no idea of when the human would come back to replace the water, and he didn’t dare taint his only supply.

He settled for leaving the dirty clothes in the corner away from the food, wrapping himself in a dish towel, and going back to sleep. He’d deal with reality later. Right now, he just wanted to not think about anything.

* * *

 

When you’d checked on the bitty the next morning, he was still asleep. Shrugging to yourself, you left him be. Poor little guy was probably still recovering.

After a quick breakfast and a shower, you rode your bike to the grocery store and replenished your meager groceries.

You hated grocery shopping, but you did have to eat. You were limited to what would fit in your bike’s basket, though, so you had to plan meals carefully. Luckily you had never minded eating cheap; beans, rice, and oats were staples for you since childhood. You ordered bullion in bulk online, and it always made your rice and beans delicious.

You made sure to leave room in your basket to stop by the liquor store and replenish your whiskey stores. The cashier there almost always had a bitty riding on her shoulders to keep her company throughout the day, and you were tempted to ask her about bitties in general. But it was a Friday, and the poor girl was up to her ears in customers so you decided not to bother her about it today.

You stopped by there so often, nobody carded you anymore, despite your absolute baby face.

* * *

 

A chill ran down his entire body. The human was back, and they were staring at him with an expression he’d never seen before. He felt so, so tiny. He tried to scowl up at them, but it felt more like a pained grimace. He was still wrapped up in the dish towel he’d fallen asleep in, and his barely concealed nudity made him feel even more uneasy. Sure, he had nothing to really look at unless he was in heat, but humans were weird about it, and he’d picked up some baggage from his old owner.

He wished he’d never been sold at the petstore. He’d never admit it out loud, but he missed his cage mates. It hadn’t exactly been all sunshine and roses, god no, but at least they understood what the constant fear was like. When they fought, they were all on relatively equal footing, physically.

The human finally opened their mouth. “Um, how’re you feeling?”

He schooled his grimace into an actual scowl.  _ Yeah, we both know the game. You pretend to give a shit, until you find a reason to say I pissed you off- _

“Fuck you,” he spat, shocking both himself and the human staring down at him.

Their eyes widened as he tried not to curl in to himself. “What did I do?”

Oh god, he was fucked.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, vaguely aware that he’d started to tremble. It was a conscious effort to brace himself for whatever violence they’d dish out, but he stood (sat) firm. Mostly. He might be naked and shaking, but he’d look them in the eye when they did whatever they were going to do to him. He still had  _ some _ of his pride left.

“Um, okay?” The human responded. The expression on their face was somewhere in between taken aback and - sad? “Do you need anything, you little shit? Food? Water? A real bath?”

He twisted around so they wouldn't see the bright red tears gathering in his eye sockets. Why was he crying…? “L-leave me alone,” he commanded weakly.

“Alright, I guess. I’ll check in on you before I go to bed, but just holler if you need anything, okay?”

He sat, facing the corner of the box and trembled. That hadn’t been the expected reaction from the human. Sure, adults wouldn’t act the same way as children might, but he’d seen enough of both types of humans to know what they were really all about. Adults were better at pretending, but they could only keep themselves together for so long before showing their true colors.

At the petstore, almost all of the adult employees had been mostly indifferent to their wellbeing, treating him and the others as chores. Nothing more than pet rodents to be fed, watered, and kept presentable for customers. Fights between bitties were largely ignored, at least until physical damage started being dealt. Nobody wanted a bitty that had been scarred in a fight, Andrew told them once, in a pathetic attempt to stop the fights. It didn’t stop the fights, of course. If anything, it made them worse.

But indifference was so much better than anything a child could dish out. Sure, children didn’t always mean to hurt, but pain was usually the end result of their actions with bitties. Chaz shuddered, and forcibly steered his mind away from the unpleasant mixture of memories and half-realized nightmares. He wasn’t there any more, he reminded himself.

He was in some random human’s house (as if they weren’t all random to him) after they took the time to fish him out of a disgusting garbage can. Maybe they thought he was worth something. Yeah, that had to be it. They probably thought they could get some money out of him. Or, god forbid, present him as a gift to someone with children.

Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of that right now. He needed to decide what to do!

…

He was tired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for more self harm talk ahead.

Before you went to bed, you peered in at the sleeping bitty. Even in his sleep, he wore a worried scowl. Poor little thing. Sure, he had an attitude, but after being left in the trash - who wouldn't? Hell, you were pissy if you were woke up before noon on your days off. You couldn’t even imagine what this little soul must have already gone through.

You went ahead and refreshed his food and water, taking care not to make too much noise or bump the box around too much.

You were pretty sure he hadn’t read the note.  _ Could _ he even read? Well, at least you had tried.

After some thought, you retrieved a knife from the kitchen and sliced one of the ends off the box, so he could leave if he wanted to. He wasn’t a prisoner or a stray cat. Sure, you’d be disappointed if he was gone in the morning. But it would be wrong to try and force him to stay.

Finally, you could throw yourself in bed in preparation for another shitty day at your shitty job.

…

You headed straight for the shower after you got home. The AC had gone out in the employees only part of the store, and you’d spent the entire day running around like a chicken with its head cut off. The end result was you being drenched in sweat and extra cranky.

You checked the bitty on your way there. He had still been asleep when you checked in the morning, and you wondered if he was supposed to be sleeping that much. Was he sick? He was still curled up and either asleep or pretending to be, so you headed to the shower and resolved to look into it after dinner and a drink.

You frowned at yourself in the mirror after stripping down. Your body was a tapestry of scars. Some self inflicted, some work accidents, some surgery scars…

Almost every single one had a story. Most of them, you could point to and tell someone how they’d ended up on your skin. A few stories prompted a pained edge to your voice, but you could still tell someone how they got there. With some scars, you’d tell the story with a little laugh or chuckle. Some turned your face into stone, expression trying to betray nothing, but showing pain and sadness anyway. You’d forgotten the origins of a few scars, and it scared you.

The thin white lines on your thighs crisscrossed with your stretch marks, making you scowl if you thought about them too long. Those lines were ancient, and you vaguely remembered a dirty box cutter being your accomplice that night. It was a wonder you’d never had any infections from your early days of slicing and tearing skin open.

Most people had the presence of mind to keep their mouths shut about them, when you brandished your skin full of woe and tragedy and drunken impulsiveness in the summers. Most people had the ability to take one look and realize that straight, even and uniform pink lines on a person’s non-dominant wrist are simply not up for discussion.

You always took short showers, now.

You came out to find your tiny house guest sitting on the kitchen counter. Not only had he somehow managed to get up there from the bedroom, he’d brought one of the crackers you’d left out with him.

He was still naked, which made sense considering you’d washed and hung up his tiny outfit last night. The dish towel you had carelessly left on the counter was wrapped around him, littered with crumbs.

“The fuck? How did you get up there?” Honestly, what a feat. “I was only in the shower for, what, ten minutes?”

“What the hell happened to your arms?” He asked, eyes fixed on your wrist. He scowled in between bites of cracker, like he’d somehow been personally offended.

Wow, he totally ignored your question. At least he wasn’t cussing you out again, you supposed. You looked down at the cuts on your arms. They were a pinkish red, a sign that they were  _ just _ healed enough to not need a bandage anymore.

You felt your eyes narrow, and it was a struggle to not glare at him. It was ignorant and rude of him, but you didn’t know his story, and he didn’t know yours yet. “I don’t know, what does it look like?” You grabbed the sandwich you’d made for lunch and forgot at home and jammed a huge bite into your mouth.  _ Little asshole _ , you thought.

“So you did that to yourself,” he realized aloud.

“Yup,” you confirmed. “Way to go, detective.” You were tired and sore from a long, shitty day, and you didn’t feel obliged to go into any detail about your personal issues. You poured an indiscriminate amount of whiskey into your cup without bothering to measure. You’d seen your stupid fucking ex right before your lunch break, and-

You grunted, not even bothering to properly chew before swallowing. Who cared about any of that? That guy was a prick. Best to forget about him.

“You’re not even gonna try to deny it?”

Right. The bitty. He’d spent so much time sleeping, it was easy to forget about him.

“Nope.” You threw back the whiskey, burning your throat with the satisfaction only booze could bring you.

“Why?”

Sputtering, you struggled to set the glass back down on the counter smoothly. You’d been asked a lot of questions about your, well, questionable  _ habit, _ but no one had ever asked  _ why. _ Various people had made assumptions and accusations about your motives, but this was the first time anyone had ever  _ asked. _

“I…” you paused. “I don’t want to get into that with a stranger.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he replied, still guarded, but less hostile. “Fucking weird, but, whatever, I guess. It’s your skin to tear up if you want.” Sometime during the conversation he’d ate that entire cracker. Damn. That seemed like a lot of food for someone so little. Was he really that hungry?

Wait - no obnoxious follow up questions? It was probably stupid, you felt a sudden kinship with the tiny person.

“What’s your name?” You asked. You couldn’t just call him “the bitty.”

“Chaz,” he replied, expression oozing curiosity.

You nodded at him. “I’m R,” you said.

“Just R?”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Yeah. It’s a long story. But it’s just R. Wait. How did you even get up on the counter so fast?”

“I’m an acrobat,” he sassed.

Your nose wrinkled involuntarily, and you remembered the poor little thing hadn’t had the chance to take a real bath yet.

“Well, you’re a stinky acrobat. Do you want to take a bath? I washed your clothes last night, they should be dry now.”

Even without a lot of experience reading bitty body language, you saw Chaz’s expression shift into barely masked suspicion and fear. His entire body stiffened.

“I mean I’ll get a dish with soapy water ready for you so you can bathe yourself,” you clarified. A pang of sympathy swelled in your chest. Poor little guy - something must have gone terribly wrong for him to have that kind of reaction to being offered a bath.

His expression smoothed out a little, though there was still an edge of wariness to his voice. “That would be better than smelling like trash, yeah.”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

You didn’t really have any Tupperware on hand, so you ended up using a plastic lunch meat container that you’d saved. You set it in the sink and squirted a modest amount of dish soap in before filling it up with warm but not hot water.

Chaz watched you warily the entire time, either a sign of a natural suspiciousness or past mistreatment. Considering where you found him, it was probably a little of both. As much as you wanted to ask him exactly how he’d ended up in a trash can, you restrained yourself. He’d stopped prying about your bullshit, so it was only fair to not pry into his.

“I’ll be right back with your clothes,” you told him. “But it’s ready for you now.”

Chaz grunted and stayed put.

* * *

  
“So, what now?” The human had asked him.

Surprisingly, they’d allowed him privacy while he bathed, and didn’t come back till he’d confirmed he was ready. He’d just finished pulling on his ratty old tee, and he looked up at them blankly. It felt nice to be wearing his clothes again instead of a dish towel.

“Huh?”

“I said, what now?” They dumped the dirty water down the drain. “You’re rested, fed, and clean. Was there anywhere you were going, or...” they trailed off, letting the question hang. They were probably trying to avoid mentioning the trash can.

Chaz grimaced. He hadn’t really had any time to think about it. “I- I got kicked out. There really wasn’t any sort of plan.” Internally, he wanted to face palm. Why was he telling them this? Was he really so quick to trust random humans like this? Humans were always bad news. He’d suspected as much before he’d been sold, and his theory had been confirmed by the stories returned bitties would tell. They always came back worse for wear.

Then again, so far this human hadn’t done anything untrustworthy. He still couldn’t fathom want kind of person would not just dig through garbage for a cheap pet store bitty, but tolerate its disgusting heat (For fuck’s sake, he  _ came on their hand!  _ Multiple times! And they acted like it didn’t even happen!) and shitty, confrontational attitude.

He looked at their arm again. Maybe they were just as broken as he was.

“Ah. Well, you can crash here as long as you want,” they continued, rinsing out the plastic container before setting it on the side of the sink.

“Yeah? What’s the catch?” There was always a catch when it came to humans.  _ Always. _

“There isn’t one. Obviously you don’t have to stay, you’re not a fucking prisoner. But I’m not the kind of shithead who’d throw someone out with no place to go, you know?” They offered a small smile. “It’s not like you take up a lot of space, or you’re gonna eat up all my food.” 

Without even waiting for his response, they poured more booze in their glass without measuring and tossed it back in one long gulp. Goddamn, it didn’t even show on their face. Yeah, they were definitely at least a little broken.

He crossed his arms. “And what are you getting out of this?”

“Listen, buddy,” they said, probably at least a little buzzed now, “I don’t know what things have been like for you, but not everyone is a shithead who’s out to get you. I’m not offering you a place to stay because I think I’m gonna get something out of it, I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”

“So, what, trying to get some good karma in before you fuck up and bleed out some time because you went too deep?” God, why was he saying this? He was still in their reach, they could easily grind him to dust right here on their kitchen counter! How many times had Patrica reminded him of how easily she could crush him to death?

The human reached for him, and the next thing he knew he was on his side, hugging his knees to his chest and shutting his sockets closed. This was it, he was going to die because he fucked up and started mouthing off-

Something warm touched the back of his skull. He wanted to scream, but a wheeze escaped him instead. And then...nothing happened.

“Fuck. Shit, dude, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The human sounded closer.

A moment passed, and Chaz realized he was still alive. He still didn’t dare move. Hell, he couldn’t even if he wanted to. The warmth on the back of his skull was their finger, and he realized dully that they were trying to be comforting.

Were they just going to ignore what he’d said?

“I’m trying to help you because I wish someone had helped me, back then.” Their voice was soft.

Their breath smelled like alcohol, but not the sickenly sweet smell of the wine his old owner had been fond of. Wine smelled like rotting berries in summer. The alcohol on R’s breath smelled sharper and cleaner, like rubbing alcohol and grain.

If he could speak, he’d ask  _ why _ . But he couldn’t, so he just curled in on himself even tighter.

Chaz ended up staying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smoll chapter,,,can't wrangle the rest into a proper structure atm,,,

After he had recovered from his mortal terror last week, he and the human agreed to set some basic house rules. Chaz could basically do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t break anything or get into R’s personal items. The only rooms they deemed off limits were the bathroom and bedroom. He could stay as long as he wanted to. If he wanted to leave or search for a different place to stay, they insisted they’d help in any way they could. All they wanted in return was to know where he was going if he left the house.

As for R, they agreed to not touch him, at least not without asking first. Chaz didn’t have his own personal area set up yet, but when he did, they swore up and down that they would respect his privacy and leave him alone if he wanted to be alone.

The one rule they both agreed to follow was to not pry into each other’s personal history or business; he wouldn’t say anything about R’s “habit” when new bandages appeared on their arms, and they wouldn’t mention his heats, his past, or his outbursts.

The day after that, he’d graduated from the cardboard box to the human’s old cat carrier. They didn’t really need it anymore after their cat passed away last year, they’d explained. Chaz had idly watched them prepare it for him, setting it up in an out of the way spot in the dining room.

They’d used some of those chemical wipes his old owner had been exceedingly fond of - the smell made him lash out with a magic attack, startling him and R - and placed a towel inside, with another one covering the outside of the crate to give him more privacy. 

With the crate available, Chaz spent a lot of time over the next couple days just sleeping. A heat had never left him this exhausted before, which was somewhat alarming. Actually, no, what was more alarming was how much he was already letting his guard down around this human, how much he struggled to not spill his guts out and confess all his heartaches at the slightest hint of sympathy he sensed from them. That was bad.

The shot glass they’d originally used to offer him water had been upgraded to their cat’s old stainless steel water dish - he’d seen them grown somber and could have sworn their eyes started watering as they cleaned it up for him - which was now placed inside the front corner of the crate.

“I hope this isn’t, uh, demeaning,” they said, after the crate was ready. “I know you’re not an animal, this is just the most convenient thing I have available right now. It’ll take me a little bit to save up for a proper bitty house.”

“It’s fine,” he’d grunted back at them.  
Really, he wasn’t thrilled about being sent to live in another second hand container for a dead pet, not with all the bad memories attached to them, but it sure as hell beat being out in the street. Hell, at least it wasn’t a fish tank. And hey, they actually kept their promise to leave him alone. He was allowed to keep the door open or shut - they straight out said they didn’t give a shit - and they didn’t pester him or forcefully dump him out of the crate if he didn’t feel like coming out.

There was a note left just outside his crate one morning.

_ “I’m gonna have to work late tonight, so I’ve left some extra food right here in case you get hungry before I’m back. -R” _

He surprised himself by sniffling. What the fuck? All they had done was leave a note. All they had done was leave a note as if he were somehow on equal footing with them, as if he deserved to be in the know, as if he was something more than an annoying pet. Sure, they had discussed house rules, and sure, R was following them without complaint, but somehow, the simple act of them leaving a note the way one would for a human roommate made him weak.

He was getting used to this, and it terrified him. Chaz took a deep breath before steadying himself, emotionally. He could do this. He might not have any idea what his future would look like, but he could do it. One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there maaaay be a little smut next time...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna tell you there's no smut this time. My bad D:
> 
> I'm not really happy with this chapter but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Surprisingly enough, the bitty you’d ended up sharing your home with was actually pretty decent company. Hell, you didn’t even realize you’d been a bit lonely before you brought the little asshole home.

In the days that he’d been awake, he’d been letting his guard down around you more and more, though he was still obviously suspicious of you. He didn’t say much about where he’d been before, but from the tidbits that he accidentally dropped from time to time, it wasn’t very pleasant.   


You felt physical pain in your chest when Chaz had commented that bacon was “a hell of a lot better than fucking dry dog food” a few mornings ago. Holy shit. After that comment, you promised yourself you’d buy bacon at least once a week.

And here you had been feeling guilty about not being able to afford the specialty bitty food. Sure, according to bitty experts online, human food would be just fine, but magic food was best. But no, apparently whoever took care of him before you just gave him dog food. What the fuck. The more you learned about his past, the more you wanted to choke the life out of his old owner.

Actually, the more you got to know him and about bitties in general, the more you hated the idea of thousands of bitties stuck in pet stores and abusive homes across the country. Hell, you were starting to hate the idea of keeping them as pets in the first place. Not that you were in any position to do anything about it. All you could really do was give Chaz the best care you could manage. Helping one bitty in a sea of thousands wasn’t much, but if that was the only thing you can do...

Despite your curiosity, you took care to never push him for more details on his past. Fuck, if you could afford it, you’d take him to a therapist or something. You were no expert, but you were pretty confident that the poor little dude has PTSD or something. He’d nearly had a full blown panic attack when you busted out the bleach wipes to clean out the cat carrier. He struck out with a weak magical attack nearly as soon as you popped the lid.

“Shit, dude, are you okay?” you’d asked. His attack had grazed you, a pinkish red line appearing where your thumb met your wrist - a surprising amount of power from such a tiny creature.

Chaz had started quaking in terror again, frozen. It took a good ten minutes for him to calm down, and you had been paralyzed with indecision on how to help him for a good moment. Your first instinct was to pick him up, and you had to force yourself not to. Luckily for him, you learned how to talk yourself down from most panic attacks years ago.

“It’s just me, dude,” you said, low and soothing, more times than you could remember. “It’s just me, man, you’re safe,” you kept saying. You brought your hand close to him, so he could take it if he wanted to. He didn’t, but that was fine.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t quite the champion of panic attacks you thought you were.

Eventually, it passed, and as per your agreement, neither one of you brought it up again. The two of you just continued prepping the crate in an awkward but understanding silence. Your thumb stung a bit, but it was small potatoes compared to whatever he had been through. Hell, it was small potatoes compared to what you’d do to yourself some nights. Funny how that worked.

He had been with you just over two weeks when you had your first real argument.

“Not only did you go into my bedroom after I told you not to, you spied on-”

“I was curious,” he said, avoiding your eyes. God, he looked so small on the coffee table, even with you sitting on the floor in a failed attempt to be at eye level.

“That’s no excuse,” you growled. Not only had he been in your bedroom while you were working, he’d been on your computer all day. You’d accidentally left the browser logged in to a porn site, for crying out loud. That should have been his cue to leave well enough alone. And god, some of the things in your favorites list - there was no way the bitty wouldn’t have gotten the wrong idea.

“I just wanted to know how it worked for humans,” he said, shuffling his feet like he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else.

Honestly, despite the breach of your privacy, you were pretty proud of his progress. He wasn’t shaking in terror, thinking that you were going to crush him to death out of rage.  _ Still. _

You exhaled sharply and closed your eyes, gathering yourself. “Okay,” you said, after a few seconds had passed. “I can… understand being curious. But! It- It’s obviously not a human f-focused site! And did you really have to browse through  _ my favorites list?” _

You tried, you really did. But your voice cracked a little towards the end. “I keep that shit private for a damn good reason, Chaz.” Your chest hurt. But you continued.

“I don’t really want people to know-”

“-to know that you apparently get off on shit like cutting? Or are you more embarrassed about the fact that-”

Now it was your turn to shake; not in fear, but anger, and maybe something else. “It’s none of your business!” you half shouted, half snarled at the bitty, raising your hands exasperatedly. You went to grab the bandaged part of your arm with your good hand, cover it up, but you caught yourself.

It was your shitty little house; you didn’t have to hide shit. You dropped your arms down into your lap, inhaling and exhaling so hard it nearly hurt.

The two of you stared at each other tensely, both unwilling to back down and unable to apologize.   


“I’m gonna make dinner,” you said, hurriedly standing to exit the living room. Chaz would be fine on the table - he seemed more than able to get around the house on his own.

Half an hour later, you were just taking the chicken off the stove when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Steadying your grip on the frying pan, you turned to see that Chaz had seemingly appeared out of thin air on your countertop. You jumped, just barely managing to hold onto the pan.

“What the fuck!”

“Oh, did I scare you?”

“You don’t have any right to sound that deadpan about popping in from thin air,” you wheezed, anger temporarily forgotten.

He really had scared the shit out of you. It didn’t help that you’d been zoned out the entire time. Hands shaking, you set the pan down again and turned off the heat.

Neither of you spoke as you tore a decent sized chunk of meat off the drumstick and set it on a small saucer you’d already had out. You still had to feed the little asshole, even when you were pissed off at him. You slid it to the bitty, who started eating it promptly.

“So, you can fucking teleport? I read online that some bitties can, but I didn’t really believe it,” you said, fixing a plate for yourself.

“Sarcasm and fucking up aren’t my only talents,” Chaz said in between bites. “Lotta things you don’t know about me.”

You said nothing, forcing a still too hot bite of fried chicken down your throat. Maybe it was petty, but you were still pissed about Chaz snooping through your room and internet history.

“How did you end up in a trash can?” You asked. It was only fair you ask; he’d snooped into your personal bullshit.

Instead of arguing, he choked on his mouthful of food. “W-what brought that on?”

“Well, you went and looked through my fucking favorited porn videos, so-”

“So it’s only fair if you ask me something personal,” he finished.

“Yeah.” You set another chunk of meat on his plate.

“I didn’t hide my heat well enough,” Chaz said, voice low, “and I guess it was the last straw for my owner.”

“Oh,” you said. What else could you say? You sure as hell had no idea what he had been through, and you knew how insulting worthless platitudes were. You swallowed.

Chaz continued. “She uh, she had kids.” He set his left over hunk of meat back on the saucer, apparently losing his appetite. “I guess she thought seeing me, well, you know,” he grimaced hard enough for the both of you as he gestured down at himself, “I guess she thought it would fuck ‘em up somehow, ruin their innocence or some bullshit.”

“Oh,” you repeated, even more at a loss for words.

“Usually I’d hide somewhere the kids wouldn’t be able to find me. But last time-” he cut himself off, making a strangled noise at the back of his not-throat.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up-”

“N-no,” he waved you off with one hand, the other scrubbing at his face, “I shouldn’t have looked through your computer. It’s whatever.”

You reached out to comfort him, stopping yourself just short of actually touching him when he reflexibly flinched back.

“Can I…?”

Chaz turned his head away and nodded. “Y-yeah.”

Gently, you brought your hand towards him, unsure of exactly what you were trying to do. Your hand rested in a loose half-fist near the bitty, and he surprised you by turning around and reaching out for it. He hugged your thumb awkwardly, though he kept his face down and unreadable.

“Let’s watch TV,” you said, trying not to flush with…

Pride, you told yourself.

“Okay,” Chaz agreed. “What about the chicken, though?” He seemed to realize he was still hanging onto your thumb, and let go.

“Eh, I’ll take care of the bones later.”

“Heh. You’re a slob.”

You unfurled your hand, and he stepped onto your palm wordlessly. Gently, steadily, you brought your hand up to your chest and kept it close on your way to the living room.

You asked Chaz if he had any preferences for TV, and after a moment of hesitation, he said he didn’t. You rested your hand in your lap, expecting him to leave, but he didn’t. Huh.

The two of you ended up watching several episodes of a cheesy anime about the power of friendship together.

It was a good evening, overall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said there might be smut? not yet. sorry.

Chaz could always tell when he was about to start a heat a few days before it actually came. Changes in mood, a dull ache down in his bones, increased appetite: he knew even his faintest tells. It was imperative; a matter of life or death, at his old home. With the dreams he usually had before, though, he didn’t even need to.

Every other month, without fail, he dreamed about warmth and sex and contentment. There were never any faces or particular individuals in these dreams. They were always roughly the same, either he was taking another bitty from behind, or an anonymous bitty was shoving  _ his _ face down to the floor of the store’s isolation area, and he’d snarl and glare and pretend to put up a fight, despite pushing back and moaning out his pleasure.

Until now. After spending more time with R, the dreams changed.

Now, he was lying on his back, open and hard and exposed. The warmth of R’s palm curled around him, gentle but firm, and their face was close enough to reach out and touch. Before he could, they opened their mouth and pressed their tongue against his magically constructed dick. He moaned and tried to buck and grind his hips, but the human laid their thumb over his ribs, gently but completely preventing him from moving his hips at all.

Before he had time to think, they were dragging that tongue of theirs against his tiny little dick, hot, wet, god, it felt so good, he was panting heavily now and about to-

He woke, panting and confused, right before his dream-self came, leaving the after-image of pleasure lingering across his body. Who knew you could get blue-balled by your own subconscious? And- oh god, why had it been  _ them?  _ Why was it suddenly a human of all things invading his horny pre-heat dreams?

And the worst part was that he had the exact same dream three days in a row.

Chaz had the distinct feeling of being in trouble. Not the kind of trouble he got into before, between starting fights with other bitties or not being impressive enough for his owner’s friends, no.

It was a less practical trouble, the intangible kind where punishment would be dealt out by the cold, cruel hand of fate instead of an angry human. Well, he supposed it could be dealt out by the human, if he made the mistake of saying anything about the new way his subconcious had decided to torture him.

If he ever let on to having that kind of dream about them, they’d crush him to dust in a fit of rage for sure… is what he would have thought when he first started living here. They had tolerated his first heat, though that didn’t necessarily mean they would even want to hear about how he apparently wanted them to lick him to orgasam. The memory of the dream made him shudder.

Why had the thought of telling them even crossed his mind? Even if they didn’t kill him, they would never- yeah, they would never. They fished him out of the trash out of pity, and continued taking care of him out of obligation, nothing more.

The shitty, horny part of his brain reeled him away from sanity, asking,  _ but what if they did? _

Despite the stupidity of it, the danger, Chaz let his mind play through the dream again. How would they ever get in that situation in the first place?  _ Hey, _ he’d say, cupping his hand around his, for a human, pathetically small dick,  _ wanna help me with my little problem here? _

_ Oh, so you wanna be my cute little plaything? _ They’d ask.

He buried his (very, very heated) face in his hands. Just imagining that made him feel like he was somehow damaging his relationship with the human, despite them having no way of knowing he’d had that thought.

He tried to get back to his guilty fantasy, but then R’s face morphed into his old owner’s face and he felt violently ill. He curled up tighter in his blanket (dishtowel.)

Chaz didn’t know how he was going to get through this next heat. R didn’t like to ignore him as much as his previous owner did (Wait, was this new human his owner now? A new wave of nausea washed over him and he quickly shooed the thought away.) and it filled him with equal part nervousness and security

But, if the human’s genuine affection had a price to pay, he might just happily accept it. Oh god, what was happening to him?

But… maybe not all humans were so terrible. At least, maybe R wasn’t a total piece of shit. Maybe. Oddly enough, the thought was terrifying.   
  


* * *

 

“Goin’ to work, Chaz, be back tonight!” You called down to the bitty’s cra- home.

No response. For the fifth day in a row, the bitty seemingly ignored your morning greeting. He hadn’t been coming out for his meals, which was worrisome. You’d started leaving food on a saucer right in front of his makeshift house for every meal, and he seemed to be eating it - you hoped, at least. It was disappearing, but you had no way of knowing if it was actually the bitty eating it. It would be a waste of food if a mouse was getting it.

If you had the money, you’d take him to a bitty vet (doctor?) and find out what was wrong with him. But you couldn’t even afford a proper house for the little dude. A vet bill was out of the question.

Maybe he just had a bitty cold, or something, you thought. Maybe it was another heat? That would explain why he would be reluctant to come out. You checked on him straight away after work, armed with crackers and determination. “Chaz?” you called softly, kneeling down in front of the cat carrier.

“Go away,” he called.

Well, it was progress, considering he hadn’t said anything in days. At least now you knew for sure he was alive.

“I know I agreed to not bother you, but you’re okay, right? You aren’t sick?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

Your knees were starting to hurt. “Um, do you want me to leave now, or…?”

“...no.”

You bit back a sigh and sat down properly. Who cared if your butt got dirty? It wasn’t like there was anyone besides a tempermental bitty to see it.

“Do...do you want to come out?”

“No,” he answered, after another long pause.

“So what’s wrong? You’re not sick, so…” You trailed off, not wanting to be pushy.

“Just don’t feel good, is all.”

“You wanna talk about it?” You tried. “I’ve been, uh, kind of worried about you over the last couple days, you know.”

“...sorry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The wire door swung open and Chaz stepped out, looking worse for wear. He hunched as he walked, his shoulders sagged, and he kept his gaze leveled at the floor. He shuffled along like a zombie, stopping just short of touching your knee.

You resisted the urge to scoop him up and stroke him the way you might comfort a skittish puppy. “You look like shit,” you said instead.

He didn’t look up, but he did make a sound that might have been a chuckle, or maybe a scoff. “I’ve- I’ve just been thinking, is all,” Chaz said, sitting down cross legged, mimicking your position.

“Thinkin’ about what?” You prompted, anxious. Was he afraid you were gonna throw him out or something?

Even without being able to see his face, you could tell something in his demeanor changed. “Nothing important. Just stupid bitty shit, I guess.”

“Hey,” you said, tone sterner than you’d intended. A headache started pounding at the back of your skull. You shoved it aside. You could pour a drink after this. “You’re not stupid, asshole. That’s  _ my _ job.”

Finally, Chaz laughed. Maybe even for real. “You don’t have the market on being stupid cornered, you know.”

“I dunno man, they say you can do anything if you set your mind to it.”

A soft laugh, then silence.

“For real dude, what’s on your mind?”

Chaz fidgeted with the hem of ratty little tee shirt. “Let’s watch more of that anime,” he said at last.

You fought back a frown. He was dodging the question, and not being able to help him made you feel shitty. Was this how your family felt when you…? You shoved that thought out of your head. “I was actually gonna play some games, but you’re welcome to hang out with me while I play.”

He let out a small sigh while you offered him your hand to climb on. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed.   


At least he was out and talking again.

Not even twenty minutes into your gaming session, things got weird. Because the universe hated you, you’d accidentally triggered a sex scene. On screen, the heroine declared her love for the alien antihero. You cheered (“Get it, gurl!”) in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Chaz shifted uncomfortably in your lap.

“Sorry, I’d skip this, but, you can’t skip this one...” You held out the controller, frantically mashing the X button with your thumb to prove that you were really trying to skip the scene.

“I don’t care,” he muttered.

You were going to let it go, but as the scene continued, he seemed more and more uncomfortable until you paused the game.

“No, seriously, what’s up? Like, you can, um, leave the room if it’s-”

“I just don’t understand how you’re so casual about this stuff! She- I-”

She? You tensed.

The bitty’s voice got quiet. “This is just the sort of-” He cut himself off, hugging his arms around himself. “It’s fine. Unpause it.”

“You su-”   


“Yes,” he ground out forcefully.

You elected to unpause instead of actually respond. On screen, the protagonist kissed her lover’s chest and made some comment about interspecies love before a fade to black.   
Your cheeks  _ burned,  _ and even when you turned off the console and laid your controller on the coffee table, opting to sleep on the couch, the scene, along with Chaz’s reaction to it, kept replaying in your head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shrug


	6. Chapter 6

Chaz couldn’t sleep. He tossed. He turned. He pulled the dish towel over his head. The scene from the video game wouldn’t leave his mind, and it was interspersed with horrible memories of Patricia and her children.

Stupid human. Stupid alien sex video game. Stupid heat. Stupid-

_ “Stupid bitty,” the human ground out, voice dripping with contempt. “You have two jobs in this house: entertain the children, and stay out of my sight. Do you understand?” Chaz shivered, unable to mask his terror. _

_ “Yes ma’am,” he said, looking at his feet and doing his best to not tremble. His voice choked, just a little, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been in the last confrontation. _

_ Patricia brought her fist down, narrowly missing him and making Chaz flinch. When he finally managed to recover and open his eyes, he saw the human grinning maniacally down at him. “You do realize how easy it would be for me to crush you into dust and replace you, correct?” _

_ “I know,” he said weakly. It was true. She loved to remind him of how cheap he’d been, how easy it would be to convince her children he’d run away and how little it would cost to replace him. _

_ Patricia chuckled darkly, clearly pleased with herself. “Good. Now put on the fucking dress.” She poked him with the offending pink garment, knocking him down to his ass. _

_ Tears of anger threatened to well up in his eye sockets, but he forced them back. He’d already shown enough weakness. He forced himself to rise up on unsteady legs and stepped into the horrible outfit as calmly as he could manage. _

_ His owner’s daughter, Patience, loved dolls. Even more than that, she loved dressup. Which wouldn’t have been such a huge problem, except for the fact that she loved to dress up Chaz instead of her Barbies. Of course the one time he’d tried to refuse, it turned into a huge problem… _

_ Patricia brought a finger down on top of his skull, hard enough to knock him off balance and hurt like hell. “You’re nothing more than a living doll. Don’t forget it. If I have to deal with you again, you’re going straight into the trash can, you glorified Barbie.” _

_ She left the room, then, and Chaz finally allowed himself to fall to his knees and let out a quiet, choked sob. Outside the bedroom, he heard Patrica’s voice, now cheerful and upbeat, inform Patience they’d be going out for ice cream. _

_ He cried himself to sleep, still wearing the doll’s outfit. _

Chaz woke with a start, throwing off the kitchen towel makeshift blanket. He hadn’t even realized he was falling asleep. It took a moment to remember he wasn’t there anymore; no more children, pink dresses, or horrible threats. Right. Just him and R. R, the human who fished him out of the trash can and didn’t threaten to murder him even when he deserved it.

Just R, who let him sit in their lap while they gamed and let him make an attempt at amiable conversation. Just R, who had dug their nails into their arms until they bled only a few days ago for some reason they refused to tell him. Just R, the first human to treat him as something close to a person.

His soul hurt, twisting with an emotion he didn’t understand but hated nonetheless. And before his brain had even decided his next course of action, his legs made him stand and run out of the crate. His legs - he swore it was his legs, not his brain, not his soul - took him to R’s bedroom door.

It was probably the middle of the night, and it was an enormous risk, but he wiggled himself in under the door anyway. He wasn’t supposed to be here, in their room, uninvited, especially not after they’d been mad at him for snooping, but he did it anyway.

“R?” He asked softly. The weight of what he was doing crashed down on him, and he was faintly aware that he’d begun to shake.

“Mm-whu? Chaz?”

They sounded tired, and a pang of guilt bloomed in his chest. He’d woke them up, they needed to rest, they had work in the morning-

“You can’t sleep either?”

His breath hitched. “No,” he managed.

They grunted again. “Come on,” they said before yawning. “I probably won’t squish you.”

His soul made a strange jump in his chest when he realized the implication. They really…? He stopped that train of thought and teleported to the top of their bed, leaving him even more drained than he already was.

“Sorry,” he said, even though he knew it was stupid.

“Don’t be,” they muttered, clearly on the brink of falling asleep again. “C’mere.”

He made his way to where their face was, and, despite the self preservation instincts he’d learned from his time at the pet store screaming at him, approached their face.

At a loss for what to do next, he decided to repeat Patience’s words. “Sleep tight,” he said stiffly, giving R’s cheek an awkward but gentle pat.

They smiled at him sleepily, their brown eyes tired, but also scrunched up in a way that implied affection. They were so intense up close that Chaz was grateful that their mattress was so soft.

“‘Night,” they said back.

Chaz laid down by the human’s face and slept deeply for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just moni- R
> 
> ,,,,chaz is babey,,,,,


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm... drinking, self harm, dissociation, suicidal thoughts, slurs ahead...all that "fun" shit

You didn’t sleep well that night. Several times, you woke from some half remembered nightmare with a jump and flinch again when you mistook the bitty’s warmth against your face for a scorpion or spider. Each time, you had to remind yourself what happened, and force your eyes shut again. You had work in the morning. You needed your sleep.

Chaz, on the other hand, slept like a fucking rock. You were pretty jealous.

Your alarm chirped at you angrily at its set time of seven AM, waking you from one of the less unpleasant dreams you’d had that night. You vaguely remembered something about a unicorn and strawberry icecream, the dream unwilling to vanish as quicky as you’d like it to.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the exhaustion from your soul. “Chaz,” you half said, half yawned as you poked the sleeping bitty.

You were just glad you didn’t squash him in the middle of the night.

He grunted and rolled over. Lucky little bastard. “Chaz,” you said again.

Finally, he woke up. “What?” he grunted in the cranky way only a tired person can manage.

“I gotta get up and get to work.”

“Oh.”

You pushed yourself up, taking care not to smash the tiny monster, and let out a yawn. “I’m fucking tired,” you said, more to yourself than Chaz.

The bitty sat up and stretched. “Same.”

You half stepped, half threw yourself out of bed. “Don’t look. I gotta change for work.”

You didn’t bother turning around to make sure he didn’t look. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit if he did, really. Neither one of you spoke about how he’d ended up in your bed, and you found that you didn’t really care about that, either.

It seemed like both of you had a rough night.

The morning was quiet. You grabbed the sandwhich you’d made last night, bid Chaz goodbye, and made sure to lock the front door on the way out. You walked to your bus stop, already looking forward to getting drunk in the evening after work.

It was a long, shitty day. The air conditioner was still out of commission, so you spent all day sweating buckets, you underwear and hairline perpetually damp with sweat. Your coworkers didn’t fare any better, and on your lunch, your entire team discussed in low whispers how much you all hated your managers, who retreated to their cool offices to spend the day chatting about how busy they were. Assholes.

Something was wrong; you knew that much. Something was making this day suck so much more than usual, but you couldn’t place it. There was a good chance it was simply your depression acting up. Not that you had any reason to be more depressed than usual, but you’d learned a long time ago that sometimes your brain just liked to make you miserable for no fucking reason at all.

You moved in a haze, your coworker’s words and conversations all blending together in a thick fog. Someone asked you if you were feeling alright, and something in the back of your mind took over, forcing your spine straight and a lie of a smile across your lips. “Oh yeah, just a little tired is all,” the mouth attached to the body you inhabited said. It didn’t even feel like you were the one saying it. Which was fine. You got this way, sometimes, where you felt like an observer in your own body, simply watching the movie unfold in front you of.

It was a boring, tedious movie.

Eventually the horrible day ended, and you dragged your ass home from your bus stop on wobbly legs. A semi truck drove past you, and for a brief but all too real moment, you considered throwing yourself in front of it. The truck whizzed past you before you even had time to finish the thought. Oh well, you thought to yourself. You could always find another vehicle to throw yourself in front of if things kept on the way they were. No hurry, you reminded yourself. You managed to tredge your way to your shitty apartment without  jumping into traffic,You unlocked your front door robotically, and went directly to the kitchen for a healthy dose of happy juice.

Chaz watched you judgmentally from the countertop.

You didn’t care. You downed one shot. The comforting warmth burned your throat and you sagged into the countertop. You tossed back another shot, a pleasant heat shooting into your belly before settling into numbness. You poured and downed a third shot.

Chaz made a loud and obviously fake coughing sound.

“I’m fine,” your mouth preemptively lied for you.

Chaz didn’t respond.

Which was fine. Your body pushed itself off the counter, and moved towards your bedroom, taking the bottle of poison with you. It didn’t bother shutting the door behind you, didn’t bother pouring another shot, instead opting to take a swig straight from the half-empty bottle. Not that you disagreed with the decisions your flesh prison made on its own.

Your body played video games for about an hour before it realized none of your friends were online. Some rando was screaming at the thing called R about how they were a worthless player who should uninstall or maybe kill itself, and the words went straight through you.

“Maybe I should,” your voice said into the headset.

“Do it, fucking idiot faggot…can’t aim for shit...”

You exited out of the game. You rose from your chair.

Your kit was in your bottom dresser drawer. The body’s skin itched.

You took another swig from the bottle of whiskey, and then you were sitting on your bedroom floor with a razor blade in your hand. Your right hand dragged it slowly across your left wrist, and you watched the red seep out.

Slowly, you came into yourself, reentering your own body. Half booze, half endorphins, you didn’t feel the new slices on your arm, but you marveled at the feeling of control finally oozing back into you. Control in, blood out. Yeah, that was right.

You had tomorrow off. You considered that thought before dragging the razor against your wrist again. More blood seeped out, and the sensation calmed you despite being so drunk the room was starting to spin. You slashed at your arm again, quickly this time. A red of velvet crimson bloomed. So pretty.

You laid back to rest your eyes...


	8. Aborted Arc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more intense self harm/drinking issues ahead kiddos
> 
> EDITED ON 12/08/19 TO ADD: You know what [TV Tropes calls an aborted arc?](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AbortedArc)
> 
> Yeah. Consider this chapter and the one after it this. I don't like how it they turned out, blah blah...I kind of want to delete them but also not? So I think this is a good compromise. Sorry to anyone who wanted more of....whatever the fuck this is lmao.

Chaz cautiously patted his-  _ the  _ human on the face. Their skin was cool and clammy, which was a little worrisome. “Hey.”

No response. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of their chest and the sound of their breathing, he would be starting to fear the worst. Idiot human. They’d got themself stupid drunk, sliced the shit out of their arm, and passed out on their bedroom floor. Patricia liked to drink too, but even she knew when to stop. Apparently R either didn’t know their own limits or just didn’t give a shit last night. It was probably the latter.

Their phone was lying just outside of their right hand, a few blotches of blood still on their palm from clutching their other hand. R had apparently gone down hard.

He’d done his best to heal their arm without completely wiping himself out, but they’d gone deep, and Chaz had only been able to heal the angry slices to shallow scrapes before running dangerously low on magic. There was a small but sickeningly sticky puddle of blood soaked into their carpet. If he hadn’t wasted his energy healing the self destructive human, he would have probably tried to clean it.

Only because it was gross.

Chaz folded his arms and considered his options. Moving them was obviously out of the question, damn his lot in life cursing him to be so tiny. He didn’t know if they needed help, though he didn’t have the magic in him to teleport around outside anyway.

Their phone, he realized. He could contact one of their friends and ask for advice. “Last chance, shit for brains,” he announced to the unconscious human, prodding their face again.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t respond. Well then.

He made his way to their phone, and grimaced when he realized there was blood even on that, too. With only some difficulty, he pressed the button on the side to power up the display. The lockscreen was decorated with a slightly suggestive artwork depicting their favorite character from the stupid alien sex game.

And then he realized he needed a password to even get into the damn thing. Fuck. Five digits, all numbers. He scowled down at the display, trying to decide what random string of numbers they might use as a password.

With some effort, Chaz tried typing in the numbers 1-2-3-4-5. The words  _ wrong password, _ appeared on the screen. “Fuck,” he muttered. Of course that wouldn’t be their password. It would have to be something somehow even more stupid than that-

In a stroke of inspiration, Chaz tried 6-9-4-2-0, wholly expecting it to not work. Except it did. “Wow,” he said out loud, because really? R was just as immature as him sometimes.

Though, after clearing the first hurdle, Chaz found the phone’s interface much more confusing than a desktop computer. It didn’t help that it was all touch screen, either. On the desktop, all of the icons and buttons had been labeled. Here, it was just icons without text describing the function. He’d have to guess his way through.

Eventually, he managed to find the right icon, taking him to the “Messages” screen. There was only a small handful from an even smaller handful of people. Most of the contacts were full names, but a group chat of people with outright bizarre names caught his eye. He tapped that one.

_ Buttwafflez661: lol so when are you nerds gonn b ready for the next raid _

_ The_evil_one: I don’t know, probably Friday night? Does that work for you guys? _

_ Slappyjoe: ye im good with that _

_ Buttwafflez661: cool cool R are u good for friday then _

That last message had just been sent a few minutes ago. Chaz glanced back at the sleeping human. They were still fucking out of it. He sighed, and with some difficulty, tapped out his own message.

_ R: um so this isnt r but _

_ Slappyjoe: ? _

_ R: they passed out drunk couple hours ago n theyre still alseep n i dont know if theyll be ok or not _

_ The_evil_one: If you’re not R then who are you? _

_ Buttwafflez661: bruh wtf _

_ R: just come to their house ok _

_ Slappyjoe: we cant...we’re all in different states… _

_ Buttwafflez661: are you like a roommate or booty call or smth _

_ The_evil_one: Is R okay? Do they need an ambulance??  
_

_ R: dont know. theyre breathing but theyre cold n i cant make them wake up _

_ Slappyjoe: stop fucking around and call 911 if they need help jesus christ _

_ R: i dont know how _

_ Buttwafflez661: i know their address imma call _

_ The_evil_one: Okay okay holy shit I’m actually kind of worried now _

_ Slappyjoe: you dont know how to call 911?? Wtf? R if this is a prank im suing you for emotional damages _

Chaz kicked the phone with his foot, pulse racing. It barely moved. He turned to look at R again. They seemed okay on the surface, but oh, god. What if they were actually in serious trouble and he’d ignored them? Shit. Fuck. He knew they drank more than usual last night, but enough to seriously hurt them? He started pacing, balling his tiny hands into fists. What was he supposed to do?

He turned back to the phone. What the fuck was 911 and how did you call it?  _ He didn’t fucking know _ . Thoroughly panicked now, he gave R’s cheek the hardest slap he could muster.

No response.

The sound of a loud siren approaching drowned out his wail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i]!!REMINDER!! Never let a person who’s passed out from drinking sleep on their back! Always keep them on their side, so they don’t choke if they have to vomit! If someone needs medical attention, always call 911 or your country's equivalent, even if the activity was illegal![/i]
> 
> Okay so with that out of the way, a couple things:
> 
> 1\. all of your comments are wonderful and give me life even if I don't respond to them :O  
> 2\. kind of too tired to do a lot of editing so if there's been a dip in quality recently, well  
> 3\. the fake usernames here were pulled out of my ass, if there are people with those names it was not intentional lol  
> 4\. this fic got kinda dark? but, and not to be a spoilsport but since i dont know when I'll feel motivated to write more for this i just wanna say Reader lives so dont be too scared for them :)


	9. Aborted Arc Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/08/19: [Friendly reminder this arc has been aborted.](https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AbortedArc)
> 
> This chapter and the one before it. I realllllly hate how they turned out and they were blocking me from working more on this. So uh, for now I'm doing this. Maybe I should move them to their own fic...? I don't know, ugh. So for now it'll just stay like this. Again, super sorry if anyone wanted more of it.

You had nightmares again that night. Shadowy monsters on either side of you were holding you down, and snaking something up your nose despite how hard you screamed and thrashed. The horrid thing went down your throat, intruding into your stomach. The choking sensation made you scream louder than you ever had before.  _ It hurt. _ You were breathing, at least you think, but it felt like you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried to wrench yours arms up and away, the vile creatures held them down.

You woke with a dry mouth and a heavy sense of dread in your belly. The room was white, and exceedingly bright. It hurt like a bitch. Well, everything hurt like a bitch, really. Your head was pounding, your throat was raw, your stomach muscles were sore, like you’d been sick with the flu vomiting all night...wait.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck!_ This was a hospital, wasn’t it? Oh god, those weren’t nightmares, were they? They were memories, you realized with horror. _You were having your stomach pumped._ Did you really drink that much last night? A sick feeling oozed into your guts. Your stomach churned like it wanted to vomit.

You couldn’t afford this. You could barely afford to feed yourself and pay the subscription to your favorite online game and your booze supply, let alone a hospital stay. You didn’t remember how you got there, which meant there was a good chance you’d have to pay for an ambulance, too.

The hospital bed was comfortable, but you found tears sliding down your cheeks nonetheless. It was over. Your life was over for real now. There weren’t enough shitty minimum wage shifts in the world to cover this kind of expense.

All for the sake of...why had you gotten so drunk again? God, you didn’t even remember. Mission fucking accomplished, you supposed bitterly.

Without meaning to, you found yourself nodding off again. You dreamed of monsters and a clogged throat and poisoned alcohol.

…

When you came to for the second time, you weren’t alone. A nurse was standing above you, along with a man you felt you almost recognized. He was a bit short, and wore a worried expression. Even half asleep, you could tell his black hair was disgustingly greasy, and the back of your mind warred between wondering where you knew him from and wondering why you noticed that he was greasy.

“Oh!” He half yelped, half squeaked, straightening his back. “You’re awake!”

You squinted at his light brown eyes. Why did you feel like you knew him?

And then it, and the last does of whatever chemical wakes people up in the morning hit you at once. “Wafflez!” You blurted out. That’s right. You’d sent each other grainy selfies in your group chat before, which explained why you recognized him.

You managed to give the nurse an awkward half-smile. “Um, can we have a m-”

“Of course!” She chirped automatically. “Just pull on the string to your right if you need anything,” she said, voice full of artificial sugar.

You both watched her leave before you turned to look your guildmate in the eye. Then, realizing you were donned in a hospital gown, pulled the covers up from your collarbone to your neck, feeling a light heat on your cheeks. Exactly how long had he been in the room…?

“So,” you said. “We meet at last, Buttwafflez.” You tried and probably failed to inject levity into your tone. It was strained, but it was better than crying.

The man in front of you blanched. “Shawn.”

“Shawn,” you said back. That’s right. You’d forgotten his real name.

An awkward moment passed. You fidgeted with the blanket, Shawn paced back and forth in the small, sterile room. “So. Wanna fill me in on what the fuck happened last night?” He finally asked.

Shawn stopped pacing. Now that you were more awake and alert, you noticed the bags under his eyes. You didn’t recall him having those in any of his selfies. He dragged one of the plastic chairs up to your bed and dropped his ass down in it. “God,” he started, dragging a hand through his hair. “Your bitty messaged us las- you know what, here, have a look for yourself.”

Despite remaining stationary in the hospital bed, you were violently dizzy at the sudden mention of Chaz. (Since when was he your bitty, the back of your mind asked. You shoved that thought aside for now.)

Shawn fished a- no,  _ your  _ cellphone out of his hoodie pocket.

Your lip curled with...something - some emotion you didn’t want to explore - when you saw the dried blood on it.

“The groupchat,” Shawn said.

“The groupchat,” you repeated, more to yourself than Shawn.

You looked at the groupchat.

_ The_evil_one: So? Any news? _

_ Buttwaffles661: they pumped their stomach b4 i even got here _

_ Buttwafflez661: waiting now _

_ Buttwaffles661: i think theyre gonna b ok but shit _

_ Slappyjoe: jesus _

_ The_evil_one: That’s good. I think. _

_ The_evil_one: … I  _ have  _ to go to sleep now… tell R I hope they’re okay… _

_ Slappyjoe: night, evil. Im sure theyll be fine. hey wafflez how is the bitty doing? _

_ Buttwafflez661: its upset but i think its calmed down a lot _

You dropped your phone into your lap. Chaz!

“Where’s Chaz?” You asked. Oh god, what was he going to think of this whole mess?

Shawn smiled, tired and sheepish. He reached into his other pocket. “I might have, um, snuck him in here.”

Sure enough, he retrieved a sleeping Chaz from his hoodie. Without thinking, you reached out for him. Shawn gently deposited him into your hands. You realized too late your fresh cuts were painfully visible. Fuck. Luckily, Shawn decided not to comment, despite how obviously his eyes raked over the area on your wrist.

You gently rested the sleeping bitty into your lap, next to your phone.

“How much money did you waste on coming here?” Despite yourself, you asked anyway, guilt making its home in your stomach.

Shawn smiled again. “Not important,” he said. The creases around his eyes said otherwise.

“But-”

“I already knew where you lived, and I’m the closest one to you-”

“You live four hours away-”

“It’s fine,” he said again.

You leaned back into the bed, pressing your eyes shut and trying not to cry. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

A heavy silence passed. You picked your phone up again and typed out a quick message into the groupchat.

_ R: I lived, bitches _

You took and attached a selfie, not even trying to make it look good before uploading it. It was too light hearted of message to send. You sent it anyway.

_ R: Gonna turn my phone off now. Talk to you guys later _

“Didn’t know you had a bitty,” Shawn said, probably sensing that you weren’t in the mood to talk about the whole hospital thing yet.

“Yeah, I, uh, kinda found him. Some shithead threw him in the garbage.”

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah.” You stroked the sleeping bitty’s skull gently.

“It’s been a while since I woke up in the hospital,” you murmured, more to yourself than Shawn of the sleeping bitty in your lap.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Shawn twitching awkwardly. You kept talking before he has a chance to say anything. “It’s whatever, though. Don’t you have work?”

He shrugged. “Took the day off.”

“Bro-”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

Chaz twitched in his sleep, and you cringed. “Poor little guy,” you said, lowering your voice. “He wasn’t too upset, was he?”

Shawn lifted his brow at the abrupt change of subject, but didn’t press. “He was pretty distraught until the nurse, ah,” his brow creased, “informed us - me - that you were gonna be fine.”

“Shit,” you half whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “I had work today.”

You’d be fine. You never missed work in the past, so a single no call no show was bad, but not enough to be fired. But still.

You bit the inside of your cheek and exhaled sharply. “Fuck,” you said in a half laugh, had sob.


End file.
